Le Severo

I have eaten in a lot of dining rooms that try this hard. Le Severo is one of the few that pulls it off without looking like it is trying.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: fourteenth-arrondissement neighborhood room, William Bernet at the pass. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with French onion soup with the cap of cheese intact, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a glass of port to finish, and then another, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: onglet, the dish that puts Le Severo on every short list. Was it the very best steak I have ever eaten? No. Was it among the dozen I think about most? Yes. The signature touch — the chalkboard wine list and the fries — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for grilled radicchio with anchovy butter and buttered haricots verts. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was a wedge of chocolate cake to share, fork divided, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

I paid the bill, walked out into the Paris evening, and put the address back into the notebook with a star next to it.